


You

by yeaka



Series: Want [6]
Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Ficlet, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 12:15:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17141573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Garill notices a few things about his fellow traveler.





	You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tuxedo_Elf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tuxedo_Elf/gifts).



> A/N: This is a collection of unrelated Link/BotW NPCs; lemme know if you want one. Thanks to Tuxedo_Elf for the Garill suggestion. :)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Legend of Zelda or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The cabin is relatively small, old, and empty inside, but as Garill paces the wooden floor, he can’t help but wonder how one would go about acquiring it. Surely whoever once lived in the cabin is long gone, despite the open book still left on the desk, but perhaps the deed has been passed down to someone else. Garill wouldn’t even know where to look to find them—none of the travelers that have passed through Fort Hateno have had any answers. Of course, if Garill owned it, he’d still allow those travelers to stay the night, especially on nights like this, so loud with rain that the hammering of it down on the roof almost drowns out the thunder. Lightning occasionally flashes past the windows, and every once in a while, it’ll make Garill jump, because a trick of the light will make him think one of the rotting Guardian corpses has come back to life.

He’s still absently strolling about, contemplating the wondrous historic site around him, when the door creeks open. He already knows it’ll only be another traveler—a monster wouldn’t bother with the doorknob. Sure enough, a familiar face slips inside: the handsome blond that Garill’s often seen come down the trail. 

Shutting the door behind him, the blond visibly slumps, which is understandable under the weight of his heavy gear—a massive metal shield, a golden bow, a satchel of arrows, and a sword that tickles something in the back of Garill’s mind. He recognizes it, he thinks, though he isn’t sure from where, and it’s hard to think any deeper with the distraction before him. Every time Garill’s seen him, the blond’s worn something different—everything from skin-tight Zora colours to a hefty fireproof suit. This time, he wears loose silk pants with a Gerudo-like pattern and a few scraps of fabric and straps that barely constitute a top. The armour on his sleeves definitely looks like it’s from the desert, as does the way his sunshine-yellow hair’s drawn up in a bangle. It confirms what Garill already knew: this man travels _far_. And from the looks of his well defined-chest, he probably has little trouble doing it.

Beauty and brawn. The blond has struck Garill before as someone _special_ , and seeing him show up wet and shirtless in the midst of a storm only makes Garill sure of it. Brushing a few stray droplets out of his hair, the blond offers Garill a cool smile. Garill shakily returns it.

Then his eyes return to the pliant muscles before him, and something else catches his eye.

The blond has a few faint outlines of scars—little pink lines all but healed away. He’s clearly seen battle. He’s clearly a warrior. But the positioning of the scars, the unique sword, and the strange slate hanging from the man’s belt...

Garill startles so badly he physically recoils. A yelp wrenches out of his throat, and the blond looks over, blinking curiously at him. Garill runs over everything he knows about the ancient battle—the one that took place _right here_ , but he’s positive. He’s repeated the stories a hundred times—he knows every blow that happened, every valiant move the warrior of legend made. But it wasn’t a legend. It was all _real_ , and the only thing that was unsure was the end—he’d heard tall tales that the warrior had retreated into an enchanted slumber, healing for decades, so that he might rise to fight the darkness again.

Garill breathes aloud, “The warrior... you’re... you’re _Link._ ”

For a moment, the blond looks surprised, but not at the accusation—at being found out. Garill’s sure of it. It has to be. He mumbles, “Your scars... your gear... you’re the warrior! _The_ warrior! That fought here—and saved us all!”

The blond—Link—dons a sheepish look. Garill takes a few steps closer without thinking, compelled by his awe. Somehow, he pictured the warrior of legend taller, broader, even older, but Link is short, lovely, and still in his prime. Still, Garill no longer has any doubt. He wonders how he could’ve possibly missed it before. He finds himself kneeling down before Link, feeling so _honoured_ just to meet the man that he doesn’t know what to do with himself. 

The fighter in him powers through. He looks up at Link and vows, “You must still be fighting the darkness now. If you should ever wish for a soldier at your side, come to me, and I will do _everything_ I can to aid you.”

Link blinks. Then his lips part, and he lets out a little laugh, one that fills Garill’s cheeks and chest with warmth. It amazes him that someone could look so gentle and yet be so powerful. For all his travels and experience, Garill finds himself a touch lightheaded as he rises again.

As soon as he’s on his feet, Link’s moving forward. His arms open, enveloping Garill in a short, loose hug that makes Garill feel blessed enough to believe in the goddess. When Link steps back, he’s grinning appreciatively. It makes Garill wonder how many fellow Hylians have recognized him, if any at all, and if he ever hears a _thank you_ for all that he’s done.

Garill’s brimming with gratitude. He hopes Link knows that. He can’t help feeling a bit embarrassed over all the times he gushed to Link about the warrior, when Link was just passing through, and probably laughing inside. But at least it’ll have meant Link knew his struggles weren’t forgotten. They never will be. Garill’s going to make sure of that. 

Another wave of thunder booms in the distance. Link turns towards the bed, pointing at it, and Garill hurriedly insists, “By all means, take it!” In truth, he’d planned to rest there after his musings, but he knows Link deserves the rest far more than him. Garill even promises, “I’ll guard you in your slumber, and make sure that no enemies come near.”

Link’s tired smile is radiant. He nods his head, then moves onto the mattress, dropping down with the weight of a man who’s held up the world. He rolls onto his side, facing the wall, which is good, because it lets Garill stare unabashedly. He still can’t believe it. 

When he’s finally digested the moment, and Link seems to have fallen soundly asleep, gear still strapped to him, Garill gingerly takes a seat on the edge of the bed. He turns his gaze towards the door, keeping vigilant watch over the hero of his dreams.


End file.
